


untitled

by healingmirth



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Frottage, In Public, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/healingmirth/pseuds/healingmirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Arthur makes one more half-hearted attempt to press away from the wall and move past Eames and back out into the open, but all he succeeds in doing is crushing their bodies together when Eames refuses to give.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

> belatedly de-anoning, originally posted [on the kink meme](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/9327.html?thread=23161199#t23161199).

It's fucking inappropriate, is what it is. The sun's barely been down an hour, and the streetlights are more than doing their job of illuminating the sidewalk. Twenty feet away from them, on the far side of a dumpster - the chilly temperature is thankfully doing an adequate job of stifling its odor - he can hear the commuters and tourists who are still swarming the sidewalk and cars buzzing by beyond that.

The commuters aren't much of a worry, honestly. They're all hunched in on themselves against the wind, focused on their destination or looking out for ice on the ground. They're not turning in circles on the sidewalk as they take in the scenery, and they're not meandering as they enjoy the journey. Even if they did notice, it's probably not the first time the locals have seen two men all over each other in a semi-secluded space. The tourists, though, they could be a real problem.

They're enough of a presence that Arthur makes one more half-hearted attempt to press away from the wall and move past Eames and back out into the open, but all he succeeds in doing is crushing their bodies together when Eames refuses to give. Then Eames takes a half-step to the right, and sliding their chests against each other pushes aside Arthur's coat so that he can feel Eames's heat through layers of wool and cotton and some sort of polyester blend. It's a collection of fabrics that he'd much rather see on the floor of his hotel room than on Eames's (or anyone else's) body, bad pick-up lines be damned. It's easier, more pleasurable, just to close his eyes against it all.

As if they weren't already intimate enough, with one fewer layer between them Arthur can feel hints of the contours of Eames's muscles. He can definitely feel the thick line of Eames's erection behind his fly. The angle, or lack thereof, implies that he's been hard for some time and had already adjusted himself before their unscheduled detour. Ever since he'd grabbed hold of Arthur's wrist and redirected their path into the relative shadows, Eames's hands have been strictly on Arthur's body, and strictly above the waist.

"Ten minutes, Eames. You couldn't wait ten minutes until we were behind closed doors?"

Eames's answer comes after a long pause, after his teeth are done tugging on Arthur's right earlobe and he's moved on to lick Arthur's neck and then panting damp breaths just above where his scarf is wrapped around. Something about the moisture in the wool makes his neck itch in a way it usually doesn't. When Arthur squirms, to adjust the lay of the scarf against his skin, or just to move, Eames's hand comes to press against Arthur's chin and hold his head still against the wall. Arthur opens his eyes, and the dry air stings, just for a second.

"Someday," Eames says, "I will train you to live in the moment."

"I find I prefer to live _through_ the moment," Arthur replies. "Your method ends up too often with pitchforks and angry mobs."

"Only because you've been doing it poorly," Eames says, but his tone is quietly fond instead of the sharply antagonistic that it can be during working hours. "I'd be an excellent teacher," he adds, punctuating the pause with a sinuous movement of his hips, "if only you'd listen."

Arthur rolls his eyes with a tiny sigh; the gesture is lost on Eames and the sigh will probably be misinterpreted. "I prefer to observe," he says. At the moment what he's observing is the fact that the tip of Eames's nose and his ears are pink with cold. A few seconds of searching locates a gray watch cap in his coat pocket, and Arthur pulls it down over Eames's head. Eames makes a disapproving sound, though why he insists on carrying a hat and not wearing it, Arthur will never understand. It's probably the same reason he doesn't wear gloves, but truth be told Arthur prefers Eames's chilly fingers against his neck to the feel of leather gloves, however soft.

His inspection is interrupted by their lips meeting again for a moment, the kiss smooth and slick with the slightly waxy chapstick that Eames keeps in his pockets year-round. "Plenty of time for observation later, yeah?" Eames whispers in the space between their teeth. "In a more hospitable setting." Then he slides his hands around to Arthur's back, and down to grab his ass. Arthur lets their hips be drawn more tightly together as much to keep from scraping Eames's dry knuckles on the brick as for anything else. Another time, Arthur might have to struggle to keep his feet on the ground, but today Eames seems content for them to lean into each other, each bearing their own weight and taking their own share of the rhythm of their hips. Arthur braces his shoulders against the wall and his whole body works to set a tempo that Eames can follow. His hair is probably going to be full of soot and mortar dust by the time they're done but at least he doesn't have to worry about marring his coat. If he's honest, he knows he won't care by the time they're done.

Eames gives up digging his fingers into Arthur's ass in favor of propping himself against the wall on his forearms. Once he's boxed in, the scent of Eames - spicy aftershave and sweat and something improbably like pencil shavings - conquers the cold air. When Arthur puts his hands on Eames's hips again and closes his eyes, it's that much easier to bring up an image of the body beneath the clothes, to focus on the heat of Eames's mouth as it makes itself familiar once again. He can feel Eames's fingers teasing at his hair for a few seconds before there's a sharp tug. The brief pain barely registers before it's echoed by Eames biting his lip. Arthur beats Eames to his goal by thrusting his tongue first. Eames just grunts and sucks it into his mouth. The sensation sparks like a live wire threaded through to his gut and Arthur draws a sharp breath in through his nose; it puts him right back at the beginning, but desperate now to take in whatever he can.

Their kiss is hot enough, slick enough, dirty enough that each time Eames pulls back, only to dive in again, Arthur's dick throbs, trapped in his pants. There's no relief to be found in gliding skin, not while they're in public, not while it's below freezing. The best he can do is put his hands on Eames's hips, hook his thumbs through belt loops and grind.

Eames, he knows, is wearing flannel boxers with penguins on them, and they've got to be as uncomfortable and damp as they are ridiculous, but that doesn't seem to be stopping Eames from rutting back against him. Arthur's own briefs are still soft and relatively cool, even with the heat between their bodies, but he can feel sweat building on his back and his belly and a damp spot where the head of his cock is trapped up against his waistband. If he's going to be clammy and sticky for the rest of the walk home, there's no reason not to go all the way. There's no reason not to get there as fast as possible.

Once he has that thought, he's done just losing himself in sensation, and the feel of Eames's body through four layers of fabric isn't enough to get him off. Their bodies thrum with restrained power, high-rev engines stuck in the grid so long as they can't move from where they've secluded themselves. The pressure against his dick is sweet and the noises Eames is making at the back of his throat feel like they're being ripped from him, but they can do better. It's a goal, and he knows how to get himself there, how to get Eames there with him. He breaks their kiss and moves his mouth to just below Eames's ear. "Talk to me," he says, and goes to suck on Eames's jaw, right over a bruise he'd picked up in a bit of rough work the day before. Eames groans and almost stills, but Arthur breaks off to say please and then matches the rhythm of his suction to the rocking of his hips, presses in with his tongue every few strokes.

"No one else knows you like I do," Eames starts, and Arthur rewards the words with a scrape of teeth against his skin. "No one would know, to walk past you on the street. Your coat will be all buttoned up and they won't realize that that flush on your cheeks isn't from the weather. I'll know, though. I'll know how dirty you are underneath your clothes." His fingers tighten in Arthur's hair, and it's so close, as hot and tight as their hips are to each other, with the way Eames is almost riding his thigh. Arthur's gut tightens in anticipation, and he sets his body free to seek its release.

"I'll know how hot I made you," he says, "how hot you made me. Oh, God, Arthur. I'll know that I'm the one who gets to peel those layers off when we get home and wash you clean and then start over again." Eames turns his head so that Arthur's lips drag over his cheek and he sucks one more kiss from Arthur's mouth before breaking free to murmur against his lips, _c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, my beautiful dirty boy,_ and it's enough for Arthur, it's overwhelming and his hips stutter as he spills into his underwear and tries to hold on until Eames finds his own release. He comes with a groan that fairly echoes in the alleyway, and Arthur can only hope that the traffic noise is enough to drown them out, because he can't be bothered to care, as their bodies slump against each other and sweat chills his forehead.


End file.
